Darkness
by Sky Blue Angel
Summary: Wilson stays late at work, Stacy drops folders off for House, Wilson wants warm beer and cold Chinese food and there isn’t enough music in his life.


TITLE: In the Dark  
AUTHOR: Danielle  
PAIRING: hints of House/Wilson  
RATING: PG  
WARNINGS: Pre-slash, beer, Stacy (yes, she's a warning)  
SUMMARY: Wilson stays late at work, Stacy drops folders off for House, Wilson wants warm beer and cold Chinese food and there isn't enough music in his life.  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine in so many ways. If they were mine, Stacy would have come in for two episodes and then been sat on by Vogler.  
NOTES: The entire inspiration for this story was the theme song for a short series on a Nickelodeon show. _iIt doesn't matter that I should not need you/ It doesn't matter that I could not see you/ It doesn't matter that I would not be you/ Can you love me for all I am?/ It doesn't matter that I still carry / All the pieces of the story/ Come tomorrow morning/ I'm standing here with all I am/i_ … This is because I'm a dork, you understand. (Beta-ed by Rachel. As always.)

The night was dark outside Wilson's window, moon just starting to rise over the balcony. House's office was lit by his computer screen, the pale glow illuminating… nothing. Though unsurprising, it caught his attention. The computer screen blinked a few times, finally fading into the blackness of the rest of the hospital.

House's door swung open onto the balcony. Wilson almost ducked beneath his desk in anticipation. But all that came out of the door was the tip of the other doctor's cane. Nothing followed, no limping gate or scowling face that would inform him he was in far too late. And no one offered up their couch for another night's sleep.

After another moment of silence, Wilson walked over to the door. Trying vainly to look into the other office, he strained his eyes against the cool glass. But all he saw within the shadows were two sneakered feet and the bottoms of what he thought were jeans. His fingers curled around the handle, sliding the door open with an echoing squeak.

He stepped to the wall between the offices, leaning forward towards the other door. "House?" But nothing broke the silence. No answering voice, not even the tap of a cane or a movement of the one of the sneakered toes. "Did you fall asleep standing there? It's not that late."

"Is too." It was Stacy's head that peered out of House's office. The cane in her hand was fairly obviously House's, though the sneakers were much too small to be his in the light. "It's the middle of the night. Why are you still here?"

"Stacy?" Wilson caught himself on the wall, palms scrapping uncomfortably across the concrete. "What are you doing in House's office?"

"Returning a few files." She flicked a finger towards the desk, smiling. "He never came to pick them up and Cuddy will have his head if he doesn't sign them soon." A few steps forward and she was watching Wilson from a few inches away. "What about you?"

"I was waiting for House to go." He leaned back from the wall, fingers curled against the edge of the concrete. The door to his office was still open, lights framing him from behind. "Seems he left a bit early."

Stacy shook her head. "Just in the bathroom. Or with a patient. I snuck in after he turned his lights off." With a laugh, she stepped closer to the wall. "But why are you waiting? Isn't your wife waiting for you instead?"

"Not exactly." Wilson didn't laugh, just stepped back from the wall. His fingers slid off the edge, rubbing the tips against his bloodied palms. "You should probably go. He'll be back soon." He glanced back at the door to House's office. Though no shadow came to darken the doorway, Stacy's eyes followed his nonetheless.

Another smile and Stacy turned away. "You shouldn't have to wait too long." She folded her hands behind her back, curling the one into the other. "I can hear him now." And as the sliding door shut closed behind her, Wilson spotted the tip of House's cane in the hallway.

The argument that ensued in the glass-paned room wasn't as loud as Wilson expected. He only caught every three or four words and Stacy left after knocking only half of House's papers onto the ground. And the slam of the door wasn't even audible from outside, though that wasn't too unusual.

"Still here, James?" The squeak of the sliding door sounded quietly. "Or were you sleeping on your couch?" Each tap of cane brought House closer, until he was leaning on the wall as well.

"The couch." Wilson knew better than to lie about that to House, not that it would have done any good. He leaned back onto the concrete barrier, closer to House. Their hands almost brushed. But House moved back and their elbows bumped instead.

"Again." It wasn't a question. It sounded more like the way a married couple could finish the other's sentence. There had been no pause between their words, House's eyes reading Wilson's and holding them. "Come on. I've got a Chinese order on hold."

"It's midnight." Wilson bumped against House's arm again, straightening up. His bruised palms pressed against the concrete. There would be blood stains there, not that they were visible in the darkness.

"Three cartoons of egg foo young in the fridge." He grabbed Wilson's arm and pulled, almost managing to knock the younger doctor over the concrete barrier. "And four beers in a cabinet."

"Warm beer?" Wilson laughed quietly, half-hopping over the wall. His palm left more stains as he slid to his feet. "And a slightly more private couch, right?"

"Only slightly." They turned back towards House's office, Wilson slowing his steps to follow House. The correction in pace was automatic, the response of years of biting conversations.

"Warmer or more private?" Their hands brushed for a second as House pushed the door fully open, another long squeak echoing across the darkened balcony. Wilson looked away, ignoring the gleam of a smile on House's face. Waiting as House gathered up his iPod and flicked the computer off, Wilson found his foot tapping to the barely audible beat coming from the headphones.

"Your choice." House spun the volume on his iPod up, motioning for Wilson to follow. They traversed the halls, the elevator, right past the nurses' station. No one had given them second glances for a long time, not even the new assistants. Gossip and rumor had become part of the office tapestry. And everyone, especially the blond who waved at Wilson as he passed, knew about marriage problems themselves.

"I'll take warmer." He didn't speak until the door behind them clicked shut. Winter had set in on New Jersey, cold wind and snow piling up on the ground. Both doctors pulled their jackets closer, House's free hand curling his fingers into the button holes.

"Good choice." They stopped at the edge of the parking lot. "Your car or mine?"

"Motorcycle or a closed vehicle? That's a hard choice there. A very hard choice." As he spoke, Wilson started towards the garage his car was parked in. "Watch the ice." House followed his somewhat weaving path through the parking lot.

"I was sure you would chose my 'cycle." Once they had entered the parking garage, the weaving path ended. Wilson found himself immensely pleased he had managed to find a spot on the first floor. It didn't matter that he'd gotten the spot by arriving as the night shift had left.

"No." There was no need to extend the answer as Wilson pulled the door open for House. They started the drive in silence, House tilting the seat back until he was almost laying down. By the time they reached House's complex, Wilson had turned the radio on to drown out the other doctor's snores.

"I need your keys to get onto your couch." With a shake of House's shoulder and a annoyed- and pained- grunt from the older doctor, they were off and up the stairs. They spoke as they wandered to the elevator, blathering about baseball scores and hot new nurses.

None of the other tenants glanced their way in the elevator. Wilson saw them deliberately looking away, knew that House had trained them into that. With a click of the button they were on their way up. And with each blinking light and little ding of the elevator, less and less people didn't look at House. The elevator was devoid of any but themselves when they reached House's floor.

House unlocked the door, holding it open for Wilson with a hint of a smile on his face. "Boarders first." The door clicked shut behind them, followed by the clicking of his cane of the tiling of the entrance hall. Wilson didn't stick his tongue out. House did though, the spark in his eye declaring it was for the more serious doctor.

"I'll get the food." Wilson ignored the constant tapping of House's cane, pulling the door to the thankfully clean kitchen open. Inside the fridge he found the two egg foo young containers from the night before, sealed Tupperware he certainly didn't remember putting the food into after finishing. But the dirty dishes were also gone and the cardboard boxes didn't appear to be sitting on the counter. "When, exactly, did you find time to clean up in here?"

"The meeting with Cuddy I had to go to." The couch made a fairly muffled squeak as House sat down. "I didn't." He slid his fingers between the bars of Steve's cage, stroking the little rat on his head. "Steve shouldn't have to put up with rotting food."

"He's a rat, House. He lived in Stacy's attic. Rotting food is not what I would worry about." Wilson overturned the Tupperware onto two mismatched plates, grabbing beer cans out of the refrigerator. "Do you mind cold egg and warm beer?"

"Is my microwave broken?" The sound of a cane smacking the closed door to the living room almost made Wilson. "Heat it up." Wilson rolled his eyes, sticking the plates and hitting the buttons he knew by heart.

The door swung open and Wilson offered a warm beer to House. The younger doctor leaned against the doorframe, the other beer sitting closed in his other hand. "What about the warm beer?"

"Ice cubes? I do have a freezer." But he popped the can open anyway, taking a swig. "Ice cubes. And isn't that my microwave." He took another swig as Wilson turned and popped the black box open. "You clean it up."

Wilson laughed and placed the two plates on the coffee table. Two forks and a spoon appeared on the table. By the time House had taken the first bite of his food, Wilson was sitting down with a pile of napkins. Their knees bumped as he sat down. House flicked the TV on distractedly, ignoring the channel and turning the volume almost entirely down. The light bathed the steaming food and the couch silently, the sounds of their chewing and sipping overshadowing the theme song of a show neither of them knew.

The show ended before Wilson even noticed what it was, not that it mattered to him. He leaned back, hands behind his head and resting just barely on the top of the couch. House was leaning forward, beer in his hand and one elbow on his good knee. The can was resting on top on Steve's cage.

"Don't get the rat drunk." House snorted, glaring at Wilson without turning his head. "He probably wouldn't like it warm any more than you do." As Wilson spoke, the older doctor started to tip the can. The movement was slow and fairly overdone. His fingers trembled, his arm shook and Wilson pantomimed smacking House upside the head.

After the beer was righted and Wilson was once again lounging backwards on the couch, House turned the volume up. The room was instantly filled with the sounds of a basketball game, college students screaming wildly and the screen was filled with shots of bare-chested men who should have been wearing shirts. A glance over to Wilson and he flipped the channel. Another channel, another channel and soon the only thing found to be enjoyable was the silence after House turned the TV off.

"The paper work final yet?" He turned his head, watching Wilson through half-lidded eyes. They didn't make eye contact, just glanced past one another and the younger doctor gave a sigh. "What does she want? More than the others?"

"Sell the house, split the money." House's wince wasn't well hidden, earning a glare from Wilson. "It's either that or hand her the full amount the house might have sold for. We've been showing for the past month."

"Is that why I've had the head of the oncology department on my couch for the past month?" Another pantomimed smack, House ducking and eyeing Wilson's upraised hand. "You've managed to find the blankets before, right?" He pushed himself to his feet, cane in his hand and other hand, somehow, accidentally, on Wilson's thigh. But there was no apology, just House straightening his back and the hand grabbing at the beer.

Wilson just pointed to the blanket at the end of the couch. House rolled his eyes and limped away, cane clicking down the hall.

After all the lights were out and the shower had stopped running, Wilson got off the couch. He tossed the blanket carelessly over the couch, mussing it just right. He'd gone through the motions a thousand times, folding the corner just so and walking away. The piano called him, whispering and playing the tunes House hadn't played for a time. Quietly the instrument lay there, standing in the center of the oft unused living room.

He sat with no flourish on the hard wooden seat, fingers curling on the cold keys. Wilson had no talent with music. At least nothing approaching House's gift, those fingers playing across the notes and bringing the songs to life. But the younger doctor could play chopsticks. The keys clicked and rang out, note after note, simple as could be.

"Not sleeping?" Wilson started at the cane poking his side, looking back to see House leaning against the wall. "I thought you're gotten good at doing that silently." The older doctor limped next to the younger, standing over him. "You have to know something better than that." His fingers lay on the keys, playing a few notes.

When Wilson shook his head, House pushed him over with his cane. The hard wood was stiff against his side, urging him almost to the edge of the bench. House eased himself next to the other man, fingers shifting on the keys. A few notes played, ringing. Wilson felt himself relaxing, tension he hadn't even notice easing.

It wasn't a symphony or even any music House had memorized long ago. Just notes and fingers and a cane that somehow ended up laying in Wilson's lap. The music came, just played itself out and kept going. Time passed, slow time, minutes like hours and Wilson's eyes closed.

The piano trailed off when Wilson's head fell to House's shoulder. His forehead rested against the somewhat scratchy pajama material, fingers curled on the wooden part of the instrument. The older doctor shifted, attempting to find an out without overbalancing the younger man. When that failed, he moved to jostle the other's shoulder.

And he saw the scrapes on the palms of Wilson's hands. There was no blood on his piano, a fact he checked instantly. Then he carefully lay the other man's palms back down the bench. His fingers curled back onto the keys, calm notes echoing through the room.

House fell asleep playing the piano, waking to sore fingers curled on cold keys and Wilson's head warm on his shoulder. The alarm in his room was jangling, ringing through the walls. There was dawn outside the window and a hint of red shining through. But he just leaned forward again, resting his head against the wood and closing his eyes.

When they showed back up at work in Wilson's car with messed up hair and an hour late, there were a few whispers. When Wilson asked House exactly what he had been playing on the piano, the blond nurse glared at the young doctor over the case she was filling out. And when House fell asleep on Wilson's couch, even Cameron had to see to believe.


End file.
